


Always summer

by westerosillama



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Eventual Fluff, F/F, F/M, postcanon, the starklings reunited in WF, them and their significant others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1419496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westerosillama/pseuds/westerosillama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wylla travels to Winterfell with her father to pay homage to the newly proclaimed King in the North, happy to this little change in her routine, which turns out to be not so little after all. </p><p>Setting: postcanon, Dany on the IT, Bran as King in the North</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was planned as a oneshot but brevity is not really my virtue so the first chapter is more of a heavy intro with little action in the end. It's also my very first attemt to write something apart from school assignments in English (scratch that, it my first attemt to write anything apart from any kind of school essays) so take that into consideration if you are still determined to check it out. Enjoy! :)

It was the third day in the saddle but it felt like moons have passed since they rode out from White Harbor. It wasn't for the exhaustion, though. She was enjoying the wind in her hair, which was notably losing its delightful saltiness the farther they moved from home. It made her feel as carefree as nothing else could, to kick her horse forward and gallop ahead of their awfully leisured party through grim northern lands that now, at last, were touched by summer in the green foliage and noisy streams, in the game galore and snowfalls north of the White Knife, which never really passed here but were ever so light and even refreshing. It was only in the night that she had to spend in her father's clumsy wheelhouse. He claimed he had enough of horse riding to save his life and Wylla wondered if she was actually his daughter. She loved him regardless, though she could not wait to get to Winterfell for she was afraid she could tolerate his relentless snoring no more. Not only because of that, though.

They were headed to Winterfell to pay homage to the newly proclaimed King in the North and attend the promised marvelous celebrations for the autonomy granted by the dragon queen as an acknowledgement of the role the Starks played in bringing down the army of Others. To say she was surprised when father agreed to take her with him is to say nothing, albeit it was not hard to connect the dots since Jon Snow became a topic of many conversations they shared. She didn't know how to feel about it. It was past time she wed, and even though the disgusting Frey wasn't her last betrothed, wedding bells still haven't ringed for her. Her second betrothed caught a cold on his way to claim her and died of fever within two days in his chambers in the New Castle. The latest, proposed by her grandfather, was some stinky wrinkled lord, and she swore she'd give her maidenhood to Wex _by any means_ before she inhales that smell again. Her mother, Lady Leona, was stricken, while her father and lord Wyman couldn't contain their laughter. Jon Snow, however, seemed like everything she ever wanted in a husband, but she couldn't be optimistic about that option, too.

Her father's supposed scheme to wed her to him was so dubious she refused to think about the actual possibility of this match so as not to be left disappointed or even heartbroken in the end. He was still the acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, despite the rumors of his will to appoint a successor and come back to his family due to undisclosed circumstances, and such decision was said to be accepted by the brothers. Anyhow, he was to attend the celebrations as well, and, in Lord Wylis' dreams his daughter would charm their king's half-brother so much he'd settle the decision to abandon his vows for good. At least that was what she overheard while he was chatting with one of the guards the other day, he just couldn't keep it in, it seemed. Rolling her eyes was her body and brain's natural reaction to such illusions. Clearly, a wish of joining their house with that of their suzerain was ambitious, and it would be silly to assume Manderlys didn’t possess a thirst for power, after a fashion. Then again few noble families were ever deprived of healthy feudal appetites, but beside that, for them it was the greatest honor and pride there is to join with Starks of Winterfell in a blood bond. Wylla just couldn’t see how she could possibly make her father’s wishes come true.

She has been called pretty quite often. There was even a son of a merchant from Lys who called her beautiful and sang her songs which words she didn't understand and begged her to come aboard his ship and be forever his. Without her family's leave, naturally. He was handsome, but, more important, he felt like a breath of fresh air brightening her daily routine, so he managed to steal a single little kiss from her before saying the last goodbye. With Wex they became fast friends despite certain communication problems, but it was obvious the way he looked at her for some time lately reflected something more than she was used to and preferred see in them. But Lord Snow, without a doubt, will be surrounded by far more comely ladies, younger and definitely more ladylike than she's ever been. Girls should be an ornament to the eye, not an ache in the ear, as her mother put it. She will surely blurt something stupid to him, and wouldn't be bothered in any other situation, or show her awe with House Stark too busily, his only wish will be to get rid of her as soon as possible. If only Wynafryd was still unwed! Her sister surely would fit better for this mission with her undeniable beauty, modest yet graceful ways and knowing what to say and when to say it. Wylla was practically an opposite to all of that with her impatience and restlessness that refused to pass to humbleness and matureness that people are used to see in a lady even with years.

She didn’t even want to think what awaited her if this little ploy proved successful somehow. She heard songs about Jon Snow’s valiance during the war for dawn and summer, which would draw tears on many a maid’s cheeks. But it was one thing – admiring someone’s deeds from afar, and the other marrying them.

She decided to put these disturbing thoughts aside for as long as possible.

“Wylla, child, don’t forget to prepare a better dress tomorrow morning”, father yawned.

She sighed. “When will you stop calling me a child? I’m one and twenty come my next name day!”

He reached his hand to her face and it seemed like he was about to stroke her head. He pinched her nose lightly instead. “You’ll always be a child to me, even when you have a child of your own, little mermaid”. He chuckled. “Besides, you still look like one! And that green braid of yours, not a thing one would see a woman grown wearing”.

Dropping the gaze to her knees, Wylla took the braid from behind her back and started wrapping its end around her fingers. She looked up with a response ready on her lips in a minute only to find her father fast asleep on his blue-green cushions. The first snort came a moment later. Groaning, she laid back and got lost in thoughts once again. She traced her mind back to her first reaction when she had found out they’d be attending grand celebrations at Winterfell and she was allowed to come. Had she been ever so excited in her life before? To travel farther than a village in a half a day’s ride from the castle, to meet so many new people and among them the descendants of those who saved her own house from persecution and assault more than a thousand years ago? To see the living direwolves? And probably the dragons as well, if the rumors of Queen Daenerys coming to the festivity were true. Could anything in the world be better than this? Nothing in her life, past and future, could ever. Even marriage. Especially marriage. She closed her eyes in sweet anticipation and drifted off shortly after to the lulling weaving of the moving wheelhouse…

…which turned out to be too bloody large to fit through the gates when they arrived to Winterfell at last.

She was ahorse, in her white riding tunic and dark-green breeches under an azure cloak. Father had insisted on a dress, but not persistently enough, and she was oddly thankful for this little freedom granted by the absence of her mother in this trip. It wasn’t proper for a noble lady to enter the gates without escort, without father in her case, who was now busy managing on the accommodation of their party - a few knights and people in service, the others know how much time it would take him. Or, if she was honest, it was too thrilling to enter it alone after all the time spent imagining how would it be like. So she spun back and shouted “I’ll get back in a moment” before breaking into a trot and disappearing in the fields.

There was a small stream in a five minutes ride from the castle where she stopped to give a rest to both herself and a horse. She dismounted and tied a horse to a pinenut tree that stood nearby. The smell of a tree, the sound of a little  stream were pleasantly soothing. Taking off a cape, she kneeled on the ground near the water, cupped her hands and tried the taste of it. It had the sweet taste of spring, the taste of adventures about to come into her life if she wasn't a coward to deny them. She cupped her hands once again and washed her face, lingering another moment to watch at the reflection in the water. She did look like a child with her Manderly cheeks and little freckles spread slightly across them and her tiny nose.

Wylla walked back to the tree, picking a couple of cones from the ground. She mounted, then took a huge cone in one hand, trying to figure out how to reach the little nuts she loved so much.

A distant splash behind distracted her from this engrossing task. Clutching the reins more tightly than nessesarry with her free hand, Wylla turned toward the sound to find a man on a horse, which was half standing in the stream and drinking from it then. Young and handsome the man was, his dark auburn hair disheveled in the wind was falling freely on the deep blue eyes wrinkled in a smile which looked oddly knowing. His rather plain garments didn't hint on who he could be, though. Seven hells, why is he still staring at me? Go on, Wylla, say something or start back toward the castle with all your might and be done with it.

"My lady," the man offered first, to her relief, a smile never leaving his eyes.

"Ser," she replied, trying to call up some confidence on her face and posture.

"The ones that has been on the ground for some time, most likely voles did to them already," he said, pointing at the cone in her hand.

Oh. It was just like her to lay an egg in the simplest of things. She must have flushed a bit, but the stranger was now smiling even wider, looking away from her somewhere in the distance.

“What’s so funny?” She wanted to throw the cone in his adorable face. “It’s not like this tree is easy to climb without some equipment which, oh gods, I forgot to take with me today anyway. Or should I ask this crow to pick off a couple meaty cones from the top for me?"

"Might be it could work," he replied with a weird seriousness in his tone. "Only if you ask politely, though", he added, grinning.

Why must he be so unnerving? What did he even want with her?

She decided she didn't care. She may never see him again  or if she does meet him in Winterfell, it won't be hard to ignore him among lots of people and various merriment there.

"I wish you good luck with that. Ser." She wheeled her horse around, not waiting for a reply, but before she moved her heels there was a sudden crack somewhere above in the tree accompanied by a loud caw. Wylla turned her head back at the exact moment when a large pinecone hit the man's head.

"Ow," he mumbled, rubbing it in the place where it collided with a cone.

They burst out laughing simultaneously, after an awkward minute of holding it. It felt so nice.

"Seems like we're not destined to try any nuts today," she said, unable to hide the smile.

"You can't be so sure of this. It's not the end of a day, after all," the man shrugged.

She offered a quick smile back.

"Goodbye, ser!"

She headed back to the gates, trying hard not to look back. Oh, father must be seething by now.

Lord Wylis was still jazzily discussing some matter of importance with their Captain of Guards, Clement, and another Stark guard when she hopped down from the horse. The wheelhouse was removed from sight by now, though. She moved to approach them, trying to figure the best excuse for her prolonged absence, just in case. Yet when her father seemed to notice, he kneeled so suddenly her jaw almost touched the ground from surprise. The two other men followed.

“Father, what in seven...”

“Hush! Wylla!” She actually had to read that on his lips. “Your Grace,” he added, much louder now, eyes wrinkled in a faint smile.

It took her a brief moment to puzzle out what was going on, and when she finally turned her head back there was a sudden numbness creeping up her body from toes to head. _What a bloody fool I am._

He was still ahorse, and she couldn’t fathom how he followed her so silently.

Wylla swallowed, half ready to kneel, when the King spoke up “Please, rise. It’s the greatest honor to welcome you here, good Lord Manderly.” He turned to look right in her embarrassed face, with the smile that seemed to be the sweetest one she has ever seen offered to her. “And Lady Wylla, I suppose.” _He knew me all along_. _The Others take him… and these stupid garments._ Hiding the merman embroidered on her tunic under the cloak proved to be without avail. She managed a curt bow, not caring of what the King might think of it, but hoping to get the reaction out of a man she met under the pinetree.

His smile widened. And then she saw his hand reaching to her, and then the opened palm… and a bunch of pinenuts flat on his glove.

“Our destiny is in our own hands. You need only to allow yourself to think this way and it might surprise you yet how many shut doors can get wide open for you if you’re not afraid to knock in”.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sort of setting-up chapter, from Bran's POV now, with green dreams, kingly routine and the Starklings' interactions outlined.

He dreamed of the sea coming toward the great walls of Winterfell.  _Again_ . This time, though, it wasn’t uninvited like the one from his past. It wasn’t washing over the walls swallowing up everything and everyone he loved on its way, leaving him suffocating in his sleep, no; this time he opened the gates and led the azure wave in himself, watching it cover the earth just a little bit, before disappearing from the surface and leaving a trail of green grass in all the places, all the corners it had explored so gently. He followed the little wave, jogging barefoot in the trail of grass, until it reached a pond under the great weirdwood tree and splashed in it with a faint giggling sound. Warm splutter covered him from head to toes, drawing a wide smile on his face and making his heart flutter in his chest.

Bran woke with a feeling of salty water on his lips.

He sat on the bed, noting the raven perching on the window of his room, his parents' rebuilt chamber. Hanging on metal wall mounts, he slowly made to his chair, a queer construction with two huge wheels of wood and iron on its sides, a courtesy of maester Samwell. It never failed to draw curious glances from ever coming lords and ladies paying homage, swords and plowmen seeking for work, mothers and children pleading for food, yet the castle folk seemed to get accustomed with the sight. It was better than being carried everywhere by Hodor, anyway. Even though Bran had much more in weight and height now, this kind giant wouldn't fail to complete the main task he had after Bran's fall, but it was different now. Besides, Bran's arms were much stronger now, allowing him to get to the chair and move freely in it. He still needed Hodor to get up and down the stairs, though.

As the giant took him down to the Great Hall with the help of a door guard, Bran glimpsed Summer and Nymeria fighting over a chunk of meat in the corner beside the highseat. Another day promised another row of repetitive activities; there were plenty of tasks he had to fulfill as the King in the North and the acting lord of the great, still not fully rebuilt castle. He thanked the gods there was Arya who seemed to have a head for figures and took many household related and other matters upon her shoulders, helping him greatly. He even wanted to name his little sister his Hand, but when he proposed the idea to Arya, she smiled, hugged and kissed him in the cheek, saying she was more than happy to provide any help that’s required but wanted no deal with the formal titles. “Until I can,” she had added, her expression taking an unreadable form. “If Gendry is to be legitimized, you know what it will mean for us, Bran. And no matter how much I wish to spend the rest of my days here, at home, with you, Sansa and Rickon, I have a new place now, and it is by his side”. He nodded, hugging his sister back. It was after this conversation that he confessed knowing she was with a baby, and it wasn’t necessary to explain to her how he knew that, not anymore. Bran saw tears glistening in her astonished eyes, and then she smiled, taking a hand to her belly, which might have been almost an instinctive motion. “He doesn’t know yet. I wasn’t sure but… I need to tell him. Now.” With that, Arya hopped from her seat and run in the one possible direction, nearly knocking Sansa down in the doors. It might have caused a big fuss years ago, but now the only thing that escaped Sansa’s lips was “It is good to see her smiling so often”. He couldn’t agree more.

Sansa was practically irreplaceable in certain matters, too. His sister entered the hall, planting a quick greeting kiss on Bran’s cheek before taking a sit to the opposite side of a table, and starting right off with a plan of seating the highborn guests at the great feast in honor of his coronation and the end of War, which would take place the following week. It was the last thing regarding the celebrations that they were left to discuss, as Sansa took the biggest part of its organization on herself. She seemed happy to find some distraction from grim memories she never really shared with her family as if trying to make them untrue. But if truth be told, she was simply better at it than any of them, and Bran was thankful he was freed from the headache of arranging a grand celebration that had to please everyone. Chewing on the fried bacon strips and throwing a teasing one or two to the direwolves from time to time, he nodded in approval to almost all names and places Sansa was listing. There were three names left when two enormous trays were carried in, one filled with lemon cakes and the other with blackberry tarts and oatcakes. Sansa dismissed serving girls with a nod, turning her head to the sound of footsteps. Following her gaze, Bran found Arya heading eagerly toward the table, with Gendry’s hand in her own, fingers entwined, her left arm wrapped around Mya’s. The shine in Sansa’s eyes that appeared when the blue-eyed girl took a seat beside her couldn’t go unnoticed.

“Ah look, we’re just in time!” Arya declared, grabbing a lemon cake and plopping on the bench, dragging her sleepy husband down so that he was confined with her and Bran on both sides. Bran greeted them all with a sincere smile. It was still a rare thing to see Mya and Gendry join their little gatherings like this spontaneous one despite the efforts the Starks were making to show they were more than welcome into their family, _to their pack_. It was only Rickon that was missing at the breakfast this pleasant morning, most likely hunting with Shaggy in the Wolfswood. And Jon, who was about to come within a day or two.

Bran had to spend a good part of day in the highseat listening to the lords impatient to get his audience. Even though he hadn't liked it much, he was trained to take this duty since he was a child. Ser Rodrik wasn't a greenseer, yet he spoke like he knew Bran’s fate long ago, in some other life. He missed Ser Rodrik dearly. Him, and maester Luwin, and Old Nan, and Mikken and Farlen, and a dozen other people of Winterfell as he remembered it. He missed his father and mother and Robb. He missed Jojen and whenever he thought about how he died, he thought of his last words, his last prophecy or his last wish, no one could tell now. He told Bran he must be strong for he was to bring the darkness down and rebuild homes and lives and hopes. Meera he pleaded to return home for her father needed her support then more than ever. He never managed to say more, though it was more than enough for his sister to obey. He missed Meera. Her worldless cry when her brother stopped breathing, the mental agony tying her and Bran at that moment and how she left, the spear on her back, kissing him in the forehead, he remembered that all too well. He gave up sending ravens to the Greywater Watch moons ago for they couldn't even find it. He couldn’t find it using all the magic that was at his disposal. Thinking about all the people he lost for the thousandth time made Bran sad.

He left the Great Hall in his wheelchair, shouting for Hodor to help him get to the stables. The thought of riding, shaking the sore off his shoulders, feeling a chilly northern wind push his cloak back, _feeling whole_ even if for a short while was nothing if not relishing. He changed into a plain grey tunic and some worn dark riding breeches Hodor picked from all Bran’s stuff he could find in his chambers. He didn’t really care, though; the clothes were sufficient so long as they were warm enough and didn’t constrain movement. With the giant's support, he got in his special saddle, strapping his body to it where necessary.

He had no particular destination in mind, so he let his eyes choose the random direction and trotted forward.

It might have been an hour that Bran wandered in the wolfswood, before he stopped to water his palfrey and noticed a girl behind a pine tree that stood near the stream. She was ahorse as well, with the hood of her white cloak put down, revealing a wind-wild braid of green hair. He couldn't help but smile at the sight, which was strangely familiar to his eyes. Bran sent his horse slightly forward, and the splash it made drew the girl's attention so that she spun to face him in an instant. She was skinny under the cloak, though she didn’t lack womanly curves. Her clothes and her horse suggested she was highborn, but what would a highborn girl do alone in the woods? _Unless it is Arya,_ he grinned to himself. Bran greeted the girl, breaking the awkward silence.

And there they were, laughing like children at his failed attempt to reach cones from the top of a tree. He couldn’t concentrate on slipping into a crow’s body when she was looking at him like that, her face expression changing from puzzled to exasperated, and then… was she amused? Had he dreamed those lovely dimples that appeared in her cheeks for a quick moment? She turned to leave so suddenly. His failure seemed to cheer the girl greatly, though it only made her stay for a short minute. _Gods, what is wrong with me?_

It was quite logical she would ride in the direction of Winterfell. Delighted as he was at the moment, Bran departed his body once again and found the unfortunate crow still sitting atop the tree.  

He wondered if he could still catch up with her on the way to the castle. Holding the nuts that he picked with a knife from a few cones he managed to grab from the tree with clutches and a beak, Bran dashed his horse through the field covered with a light holey blanket of snow.

He knew the memory hadn’t failed him when he found the green-haired girl standing near Lord Manderly himself in front of castle gates. The colors of her clothing could suggest about her origins, but it wasn’t how he guessed back under the pine tree the girl was a Manderly. Bran saw her, once before. Through birds or trees, he could not tell now, but it was the girl from White Harbor, the one that caught his attention while standing under the doors of her father’s solar, eavesdropping their maester reading out the contents of a letter from Winterfell, and eating blackberries she’d mooched from the kitchens. The girl, who then left for the stables, and Bran’s eyes followed. There she found her mute friend being mocked by a group of squires whom she’d driven away with a couple of sharp words and a fierce stare, even though that friend was more than capable to defend himself by the look of him. The sight of her teaching the boy to ride better on a horseback, her eyes and lips laughing at his struggles were the last things his mind caught before Bran carried it back to the window of his own chambers in Winterfell, like he did so many times before in his spare time. He used to do that, from time to time, to visit a thousand different places through thousands eyes and shapes.

He tried hard to keep a serious face while greeting Lord Wylis, though the grin was back there when his daughter turned to face Bran wide-eyed. He almost regretted not telling her who he was right off. He needed it sometimes, to put the titles aside with all responsibilities and inevitable flattery they bore, to feel a comfort of being just Bran, but it must have been unfair to put her in such situation. Though the girl’s face flushed so adorably when he greeted her by her name, her gaze fixed on him, lips pressed tight together in something that could scarcely resemble a smile. He offered her the pine nuts then, watching a little flash of astonishment lighting her eyes despite her efforts to keep a scornful look on her face.

Bran offered to see Lord Manderly and his daughter to the keep himself, waiting for them to mount and then leading their little party through Winterfell’s gates. Unlike her father, Lady Wylla was silent all though their way, yet her eyes spoke louder than any words could. She seemed amazed with things she saw inside, and though the buildings were still scared with burnt wood and stone in some places, Bran was so proud to see his castle, his people, his home to revive at last.

“On behalf of my family, I welcome you in Winterfell,” he said to the guests as they arrived to the guest tower. “I shall see you on the morrow, when you’re rested well from the road, Lord Wylis,” he nodded, smiling, “Lady Wylla”. With that, Bran headed to the stables, exhaustion creeping up his body. He hated showing his weakness to anybody, but it was harder to hide after so much time spent on the horseback.

He didn’t regret anything, though, now that another dream of his started to come true, and such a good dream it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is cool :)


End file.
